


Realm of the Stars

by BoxOnTheNile



Series: Storm [8]
Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:28:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24687670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxOnTheNile/pseuds/BoxOnTheNile
Summary: "You're alive. That's impressive. Bet you wish you weren't.""Not there yet, give me a day before the existential dread sets back in."
Relationships: Daniel Jacobi & Alana Maxwell, Doug Eiffel & Hera, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Storm [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1305674
Comments: 57
Kudos: 81





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Look the Lovelace fic took a sudden new turn so we'll come back to season two. In the meantime...
> 
> Title and lyrics from "The Surprise Knock" by The New Pornographers

_Drive off the map into the realm of the stars_  
_Didn't need a war, but now this one is ours_  
_Smile along until the coast is clear_  
_Like anything that you will learn to fear_

* * *

Daniel stares, bleary-eyed, at the solid wood of the table in the meeting room. He was headed _home_ , for stars' sake, but Kepler had dragged him into his office for a pick-me-up—caffeine didn't work for demons, but apparently bending someone over a desk did. Before the endorphin high could wear off and Daniel could grab a _nap_ , Marcus Cutter himself had summoned Kepler and his team.

Alana, in the seat next to him, pats his shoulder. She'll catch him up on whatever's important, he just has to be not obvious about the fact he's falling asleep in his chair. 

The door clicks open, and he hears the precise clicks of expensive dress shoes on hardwood. The sound stops behind him. 

"I hope I didn't interrupt your lunch break, Warren!" Cutter titters, and Daniel hates the vampiric sense of smell.

Any self respecting Phoenix would have written this life off by now and walked into traffic. Daniel hasn't been self respecting in three hundred years.

Hopefully it means he didn't need to be as convincing, re: his wakefulness. He droops down to the tabletop, head on his arms. There's a rustle of fabric from Kepler, but Cutter's voice stops it. "Now, now, Colonel, let him be. It _is_ your fault he's in such a state."

The traffic idea gains a little more appeal.

Daniel really does try and pay attention, but he drifts in and out of focus. Something about a space station, and a star. There's something that makes Alana speak excitedly for a minute, but he's too tired to care all that much.

"—kowski—"

Daniel sits up sharply. Cutter stops in the middle of his sentence and smiles pleasantly. "Oh, have you decided to join us?"

"Sorry, sir, what was that name?"

"Renée Minkowski," Kepler repeats. The syllables drag on his tongue. "Do you know her, Mister Jacobi?"

"Nah," Daniel says. "Sounded similar to someone I knew once, but she's _long_ gone. Just… took a second to register. Sorry, sir."

"Well, now that I have your attention, we can get to the heart of the matter," Cutter says, "and talk about why I am _personally_ invested in the success of the Hephaestus mission."

* * *

"Daniel, may I speak with you a moment?"

Daniel’s heartbeat picks up immediately. Cutter is smiling at him, a smile that’s as threatening as it is pleasant, with the way his fangs just barely show. "What about?" He really doesn’t want to be alone with him.

"Oh, just your recent HR complaint," Cutter says, and Daniel’s stomach drops. There goes the idea of keeping his team with him. "I was hoping we could discuss solutions _together_."

"HR complaint?" Alana asks. The last time anyone in SI-5 filed a complaint was her _sexual harassment_ incident, and Kepler… took care of it.

"It’s nothing serious," he tells her, "I’ll be with you in a second." Is this another test? Does he know about _this_ , too?

As soon as the door clicks shut, Cutter gestures for him to sit again. "I was under the impression that dragons and phoenixes got along," Cutter says. 

"We’re governed by the dragon’s Council instead of the Courts, sort of," Daniel says. "I just want to be left alone, really, but your new… _whatever_ he is can’t seem to understand that. I don’t _want_ to know what he does, I don’t _care,_ I just want your dragon to stay out of my workshop." Daniel snaps his mouth shut when he realizes he let it get away from him again.

Cutter doesn’t seem offended, though. He just nods, serious. "I will speak to Reimann about it," he says. "You are still my _employee_ , Daniel. It is well within your rights to file a complaint about a coworker."

"Even a coworker that doesn’t exist? I looked him up. I _still_ don’t want to know. I just… want to be left alone." He doesn’t like dragons.

"Of course," Cutter tells him. "I’m not sending you on this mission."

What?

"What?" Daniel asks.

"Warren has handled interstellar travel before," Cutter says, head tilted. "Doctor Maxwell is nearly human, so long as she has the right reagents to stabilize her soul. You are the only being we’re not certain can safely leave the planet."

He _has_ to go. "Sir," he says, and prays that he’s not about to get himself killed, or worse. "A few years ago, I… checked in with my, uh. Home. There’s been… one of us on the ISS for a while. I am… honor-bound not to say who."

"Oh," he says. "So it’s the Sun itself you’re bound to. A _star_."

"Yes. So I’m not. I’m not worried. And if I’m wrong, well, it will be my own fault." He doesn’t think he’s wrong. And if he’s _right_ , that opens up… so many possibilities. 

"Well," and Cutter’s smile grows, "that changes things. It will, of course, take time for everything to be ready. Would you like the chance to visit home again?"

"No, thank you, sir."

"Then you’re dismissed. I’m sure you’d like to sleep soon."

Daniel makes it almost to the parking lot before the exhaustion really hits again and he leans against the outer wall and slides to the ground. He's so tired. He's been tired, honestly, since he's been _Daniel_. 

Alana appears next to him a few moments later. "Hey, Peacock. Need a lift?"

"I think this is it," he says.

"This is what?" She sits cross-legged on the pavement next to him.

" _A message from the heavens_ ," he quotes. 

"... Shit."

"Shit." Daniel drops his head into his hands. "I'll take that ride home? I… I just wanna sleep. For a while."

"Yeah, okay." Alana stands and helps Daniel to his feet. "Let's go home."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fish time

Doug could _almost_ cope with it, you know? 

Not really, he was hurtling through the void of space in a shuttle made of duct tape and tin cans and refusing to acknowledge that this was it for him, but the part that _really_ got him was… it hadn't mattered. All the self denial, walking the fucking razor's edge of starvation for _two years_ … and it didn't matter. He was still going to die, alone and afraid and hungry, a trillion miles from the Sea.

It was probably no less than he deserves.

He _drifts_ , alone and afraid, and he's resistant to cold and ice but the cryo still wears at him bit by bit. He airs his distress, layering each transmission with a Thrall— _come here, come here, come to me—_ and it kills him a little because that's a Hunting Song.

But in the end, everything wants to survive, and he's no exception.

He forces himself to eat every time he's hungry. He forces himself to keep trying. He forces himself not to think of his daughter, eight light years from here. 

~~She turned eight today~~.

* * *

He's not quite sure how his rescuers get _on_ the shuttle, really, but he hears movement before he can _stop them_ , but… no heartbeat. No blood, no flesh, nothing to sink his teeth into. He opens his eyes blearily to look at the red-haired woman in front of him. 

"Hello, Officer Eiffel," she says cheerfully. "Mer, right? I think we can help you." She carefully links her arm with his and pulls him along, out of the shuttle and onto a shiny new ship. He catches the scent of sulphur and ash, but doesn’t quite understand them until a second person takes his other arm and the scent of sulphur is closer. 

The demon clicks his tongue. "Well, he’s not dead, which I suppose puts him in better shape than I expected. Also explains why Mister Cutter insisted on a blessed _fish tank_. Maxwell?"

"Was already headed that way," the impossibly bloodless woman chirps. "Peacock any better?"

"Not here," the demon replies, and Doug places his voice as the one that spoke to him earlier.

Then he must be dunked in the "blessed fish tank", because there’s water and it ripples with the movement of _food_ and he barely has the presence of mind to hold his Song in check until he’s alone again. 

Some deep instinct reminds him that you can never trust a demon.

He Sings the fish in the tank with him closer, and sinks his teeth into live prey for the first time in three years. It’s not enough.

It’s never enough. The only time he’s ever not been hungry, he was eighteen and had made himself a monster.

* * *

Doug isn’t worried about the missing fish exposing him. Mer eat like that, ideally, snatching fish out of schools. It’s Sirens that take it a step further. The tank itself is _perfect_ for a Mer that’s been wounded and half-starved, what he and Commander Minkowski would try to recreate, poorly, by flooding the showers on the Hephaestus. It’s like they’d been prepared for this, or something like this, but that’s… impossible. Insane.

He decides not to think about it right now. 

Eventually, Doug’s soulsense picks up sulphur, and he flicks his tail wearily, bringing himself closer to the plexiglass. The demon smiles almost reassuringly on the other side. "Hello, Officer Eiffel. Can you hear me alright?"

The noise is a little warped by the water, but, yes, Doug hears him. He nods.

"Wonderful. You can call me Colonel Warren Kepler."

Absentmindedly, Doug signs to him. _"Nice to meet you."_ Colonel Kepler immediately tilts his head, appraising him quietly, and Doug wonders _why_ until remembering that outside Deaf or Mer communities, sign language isn’t common.

Look, sometimes communicating underwater gets complicated. There’s not many Mer that _don’t_ know sign language at this point.

Kepler seems to make a decision. "One moment, Officer Eiffel," he says. He leans out into the corridor, as much as one can "lean" in zero-g, and yells. "Maxwell, get Jacobi!" A pause, where Doug’s superhuman hearing can pick up the cadence of a voice, if not the words. "I don’t recall _asking_ , Doctor Maxwell."

_"Trouble in paradise?"_ Doug signs, despite the fact that Kepler isn’t looking and can’t understand anyway, mostly because of who he is as a person. There’s something _under_ the scent of sulphur in his soulsense that he can’t quite place, but he knows it.

Kepler turns back to him with that almost-pleasant smile. "One of my crew knows ASL. I’m sure this will run far smoother if I can help answer any questions you have." 

Doug’s never actually met a demon, but he knows helpful isn’t a word normally associated with them. He’s still far too exhausted to look for hidden meanings and half-truths, though, so he's going to keep his mouth shut as much as possible. Hands still. One of those.

The woman from before comes into the room, towing a bundle of blankets behind her. Then the blankets cough harshly, and Doug realizes there's a _person_ under all of that fabric.

"Officer Eiffel, this is Daniel Jacobi, my right hand. Jacobi, Officer Eiffel signed to me."

"Mer do that," the man in the blankets says hoarsely. A slender, delicate hand emerges to grab a handrail and swings Jacobi around enough to see Doug. Jacobi looks _miserable_ , shaken and sick and worn. 

_"Are you okay?"_

Jacobi coughs again. "Cut off from my Source."

Eiffel cringes. He was just as bad, the first few weeks on the Hephaestus, so far from his source of magic in the Sea. Eventually, you pull yourself together, push through, but the aching loss never quite fades. 

_"It gets a little easier,"_ Doug signs. 

"Stars, I fuckin' hope so," Jacobi mutters. "You're alive. That's impressive. Bet you wish you weren't."

_"Not there yet, give me a day before the existential dread sets back in."_

Jacobi snorts. "Oh, you're _funny_. Boss, can we keep him?"

"That is the idea, given we saved him," Kepler says. "We're with Goddard, Officer."

Doug distrusts them immediately. After his _disastrous_ mistake several months ago, he'd been waiting for this, for their luck to run out and the endgame to arrive. It seems it finally has. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Fitting, given that Dog is a _fish_.

Kepler has kept speaking. "We're… swinging by the USS Hephaestus. Command received a distress call a few months ago and we've been working to respond ever since. It was just luck we heard your mayday."

_"Good or bad?"_ Doug signs, small, like he's whispering with his hands. 

Jacobi tilts his head, an echo of Kepler's earlier motions, but Jacobi's is different. Curious instead of calculating. "A good question, Officer. We'll just have to wait and see." He doesn't tell Kepler what he's responding to.

Kepler keeps going, explaining, and Doug should listen but he's exhausted, and suddenly the tank has terrifying connotations, and he can't think straight. He still can't place the other part of Kepler's aura, and Jacobi doesn't seem to have one at _all._ He waves his hand for attention, and when Kepler pauses, he signs, _"Can't… can't understand. Tired."_

"Mister Jacobi?"

"He's tired and can't follow what you're saying anymore."

"Ah. I suppose that's understandable. We'll continue another time." Kepler offers Jacobi his hand. "Would you like some assistance, Jacobi?"

Jacobi lets go of the handhold and takes Kepler's offer. The demon's aura flares slightly, suddenly, and Doug finally places the smell.

Colonel Kepler's soul smelled like sulphur and _sex_. Doug was on a ship with an Incubus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Storm has an official [spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/17yprVab0Et5k4aDhh9YST)!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to go up two days ago just kill me
> 
> Edit: hey, if you haven't read everything to the series, you probably should! Or give things a quick reread, there's a _lot_ to remember. The exception is Pretty Melodies, I didn't put anything incredibly important that. ^^;

The shuttle passes out of comms range. Renée holds herself together, barely, until she can shut herself in that distant terrible lab away from Hera's sensors. She half-shifts there, silver-blue scales prickling down her arms, across her chest and cheeks. 

She throws back her head and _screams._ Halfway through, it chokes off into a sob, the room filling with smoke and steam as she wails. 

Dragons are supposed to _protect_ their hoard, and now one of the best friends she'd ever made was gone, for the second time in less than a century.

Douglas Eiffel was _hers_. Now, he's just gone. And she doesn't know what to do anymore.

She remembers, suddenly, vividly, the Tower; how the lightning strike looked almost like an explosion. Nik's voice echoes in her ears: _destruction and despair_. For a moment, a half second, she _hates_ her husband. He had to have Seen this, he's a fucking _Oracle._

It fades quickly. She knows he's not allowed to interfere.

Her hoard, her Mer, her _friend_ is gone, and some deep instinct is screaming at her to shred the Fae that did this, but it isn't Lovelace's fault. It's not anyone's fault. It's just exceptionally bad luck.

She curls into a ball, face pressed to her knees, and wishes she had the space to shift, to hide under her wings and weep, but she can’t, she _can’t_ , the only space on the ship remotely big enough to hold her is the observation deck.

Doug Eiffel is gone, and she cannot save him, and it is her fault. 

Once again, it's her fault.

* * *

"Pan-pan, pan-pan, pan-pan. All stations. This is an urgent distress call from the U.S.S. Hephaestus Station. One hundred days ago we encountered an undocumented astrophysical phenomenon. The event left severe damage on multiple systems. One of our crew members is missing in action. Station operational status compromised. Requesting immediate assistance from any available craft. Please respond."

She waits, quiet and hollow, and listens to the static. "I say again, please respond."

Nothing. She closes the channel and sighs, exhausted. 

"Commander?" 

"I'm alright, Hera." 

She can _feel_ the Hephaestus coming apart at the seams. The station is _hers_ , and she is aware of every breach, every rusting screw. It's been wearing on her for far longer than the past few months.

"When are you going to tell them?"

"Eventually," she sighs. "Let's get started."

* * *

Renée stares at her crew, exhausted, hands shaking subtly as she _feels_ the station straining. 

"One hundred and thirty seven."

Hilbert and Lovelace look uncomfortable.

"That's how many systems are showing signs of critical failure. One hundred and thirty-seven. We were going to fix one of those today. We didn't. Instead, it literally blew up in our faces. No one died. We got lucky." She shudders with the station. "I get it. You don't like each other. But we can't keep doing this, or people are going to die." She closed her eyes. "Dismissed. Get some space."

"Actually, uh… don't do that," Hera says, and Renée shivers again. "Nobody leave the room for the next… while."

"Hera?" Renée asks.

"Okay, so... a pretty important part of the thermal system got a little... blown up today. And I had to do some pretty quick adjustments to–"

"Are we about to die?" Renée snaps.

"No-o," Hera glitches. “But I had to shut down the thermal system and reset the generators to get them started again.”

“How long will that take?” Hilbert asks.

“Well, temperature control isn’t supposed to _turn off_ , so I'm not sure?”

“Ballpark,” Renée orders.

“A few hours? A day at most.”

“And when are you starting this reset.”

Hera is quiet for a moment. “Approximately thirteen minutes ago.” Lovelace and Hilbert groan, and Hera responds faster than Renee can. “I’m sorry, did I mention the _incredibly quick thinking_ I managed in order to save you all? I’ve rerouted all the auxiliary heat to the room you’re in to keep it habitable.”

“Barely,” Hilbert snaps. “In half an hour, this room will be _freezing._ ”

“Which will be better than the rest of the station by more than a _hundred degrees_.”

Renée looks around. She hasn’t been in the comms room in months now, unable to bear the grief that permeated the space. She pushes off the wall for the control panel, underneath, and pries one of the metal sheets over the circuitry free.

Folded in the back are several blankets and the ration bars Eiffel always had on hand. She pulls the blankets and leaves them to float in the air behind her. 

A green scale floats free. She catches it before the others can see, tucks it back in Eiffel’s hidey-hole, and replaces the panel. “Eiffel was Mer,” she explains hollowly. “He didn’t regulate his temperature too well. He has blankets tucked away all over the station.”

“...Commander–”

“Shut up, Hilbert,” she interrupts. “Bundle up. It’s going to get cold.”

* * *

“ _Fuck_ this.”

They’re the first words spoken in three hours. Lovelace is shuddering violently under her blanket, teeth chattering. 

“Stow it, Captain,” Renée is curled up in her own blanket, but it’s mostly for show. The fire in her belly keeps her warm enough, but she’s clutching that little green fish scale in both hands, mourning all over again.

_Destruction and Despair._

“No, _fuck. This._ Is this just how things are now? Is one part of this station going to fall off every other day?”

“It would seem so.” Hilbert shivers nearly as badly as Lovelace.

She opens her mouth to respond, but Renée doesn’t give her a chance. “Don’t even _start_ , Captain.”

“And why not! He’s a murderer, your AI is _defective_ , and _you_ are–”

“I do not have the energy to deal with you while holding this gods-forsaken station together _while_ fighting the instinct to tear you apart for killing my hoard!” She doesn’t have to see them to feel their eyes on her. “They are both here, Captain Lovelace, despite all your attempts otherwise, because they are _mine_ , like Doug Eiffel was _mine_!” She turns on them, scales across her cheeks and smoke curling between her fangs. “He was _mine_ , and now he’s _gone_ , and I won’t lose the rest of my hoard because _you don’t like them_!”

“Commander--”

“ _Shut up. Hilbert!_ ” Renée’s shoulders sag forward, teeth clenched in pain, as the station shudders. “The only reason I didn’t let her strangle you the second she stepped foot on the station is because instinct wouldn’t let me.” She laughs, harsh and mirthless. “What kind of dragon am I? The only pieces of my hoard left are broken and traitorous, my territory is held together by hope and my own fucking magic, and some silly little _Fae_ is talking to down to me. And she’s right.” Renée shakes her head. “The station should have fallen apart seventeen days ago. It’s holding together because I am forcing it to.”

“How long?” It’s Hilbert who asks.

“Until the strain kills me. It’s been painful for weeks.” She turns the scale over in her fingers. “When a dragon claims territory, our soul connects to it. The only reason I’ve held out this long is my territory on Earth is thriving, but I’m sure the stress is showing there, too.”

" _How long_?" Hilbert demands.

"Sixty days. Maybe seventy. I’ve been airing a distress beacon twice a day since…”

_The Tower._

“Since it happened,” she finishes.

No one speaks for a long, long time.

Lovelace laughs quietly. “I didn’t even know dragons were _real_. Thought they were like… like demons and phoenixes and whatever.”

“Both of those are real, Captain,” Hilbert says. “Goddard has a demon in its employ.”

“Of course it does!” 

Hilbert rolls his eyes. “Commander… we still have the pulse beacon.”

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Lovelace snaps. “We’ll just be dead _faster_ that way!”

“Do we have a choice?” Renée asks softly. Lovelace has no answer. Renée curls her fingers around the scale, then stuffs it in her pocket and unzips the top half of her jumpsuit, shrugging it down to tie the sleeves around her waist. 

Hilbert and Lovelace both start shouting when she untucks her shirt. “Oh, be quiet,” she says, pulling it off. A moment later, her wings extend. “Come here, you’re both freezing.”

Hilbert pushes off the wall, but he won’t look her in the eye as she tucks him under one wing. Humans and their _modesty_. Lovelace just stares at her wings with longing.

“Captain,” Renée says, and she startles.

“Yeah,” she says quietly, and lets Renée wrap one wing around her. Slowly, both their shivering starts to ease. 

Almost an hour later, there’s a rush of air from the vents. “Thermal system a-and temperature controls are now back online,” Hera says. “It’ll be another hour or two before the rest of the st-station is habitable, but this room should be back to optimal in fifteen minutes or so.”

“Thank you, Hera,” Renée tells her. Under her wing, Hilbert shifts in his sleep. Lovelace is asleep on her other side.

“Commander–”

“You’re mine, too, Hera,” she says softly. “I’m not leaving without you.” Her wings pull a little tighter. “Prep the pulse beacon relay.”

“Y-yes, Commander.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Storm has an official [spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/17yprVab0Et5k4aDhh9YST)!
> 
> I started a w359 discord as well. 18+ for now, please, I've been burned too many times, but the link is here.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what I hate?
> 
>  ~~New Year's~~ Executive Dysfunction.

Doug lingers in the back as the Urania docks. He’s not sure how to… see them again. He’s been slowly re-acclimating to _people_ , brief stints of time around Jacobi and his almost terrifyingly quick heartbeat, but one human is not the same three and a Fae.

He still has no idea what Doctor Maxwell is, and it’s not like he can ask why she doesn’t have a _heart_ without arousing suspicion. 

The airlock hisses open, followed immediately by the cocking of weapons. 

“Easy,” the colonel says, lifting his hands, and Doug can’t tell if it’s a Thrall or not. “We’re unarmed, and we don’t bite. I’ll take it that you’re Lieutenant Minkowski?”

“Who’s asking?” 

If it wasn’t for Jacobi grabbing his arm, Doug would’ve shot out of the ship at the sound of Minkowski’s voice.

“That’s a yes, then. Warren Kepler. I work for Goddard, SI-5.” Doug can hear the smile in his voice. "As soon as you're ready to put that down, it would be an honor to shake your hand."

"I _wouldn't_ , Commander."

Doug shivers at the malice in Hilbert's voice.

"Ah," Kepler says, light and _terrifying_. "Doctor Hilbert. Such _distrust_.”

“You can never trust an _Incubus_ , Major,” Hilbert seethes. 

“Colonel,” Kepler corrects. “Recent development. Nothing too important.”

“Humility is virtue,” Jacobi chirps, firmly pushing Doug behind him and moving to Kepler’s side. “That’s unbefitting of a demon, sir.”

“You have a good point,” Kepler says cheerfully. “This is Special Operative Daniel Jacobi, SI-5. He's my administrative officer and right hand. We're here to help, Lieutenant.”

Doug hears someone scoff.

“Oh?” Kepler's voice drops to something like a _purr_. Doug has had it directed at him once or twice in the week since he finally crawled out of the tank. Kepler is flirting.

_Hunting._

"And who is this?" he continues. It isn't a Thrall, _yet_ , and while Doug's Song wouldn't touch an Unseelie, a _demon’s_ might.

" _Captain_ Isabel Lovelace," the Fae in question answers. "Unseelie. Only survivor of the previous Hephaestus mission."

"Charmed!" Kepler chirps, brightly, like they _aren't_ seven light years from Earth and this happens all the time. It only cements Doug's theory that Goddard was behind her reappearance. "Personnel files also mentioned an MX500 Class Adjutant Program, Sensus Series?"

"Her name is Hera," Doug rasps before he can stop himself, and without Jacobi there to hold him back anymore, he floats onto the Hephaestus for the first time in months. "Hey, Commander."

Minkowski damn near slams into Doug when he says her name. She’s shaking, holding her breath like the tiniest wind will make Doug dissipate like a shoddy illusion, and he hugs her back. “I’m here,” he rasps. “I’m real.”

“We very nearly missed him!” the Colonel says cheerfully. “He is very, _very_ lucky.”

“Fate,” Minkowski whispers, and Doug remembers that her husband is an honest to god Oracle, so it makes sense. Doug doesn’t care if it’s luck or fate or the fucking aliens, he’s just glad to be alive.

“Whatever you want to call it, he’s surprisingly not dead, the bastard,” Jacobi says dryly. Minkowski glares at him over Doug’s shoulder.

“Be nice, Jacobi,” Kepler says.

“I’m _always_ nice, sir.”

“Of course. Now,” Kepler turns back to Minkowski and Doug, to Lovelace. “I think the five of us have a lot to discuss.”

“Discuss what?” Minkowski snaps. “We’re… leaving, aren’t we?”

Kepler laughs, low and smooth, and a shiver travels down Doug’s spine, shaking him to his scales. “Lieutenant,” he says, eyes black, “who said anything about leaving?”

* * *

“Captain?” Doug asks Lovelace when she joins them in the commissary the next morning. “Where’s the _commander_?”

“Sick,” she says shortly.

“Sick?” Kepler presses. “She seemed fine yesterday.”

“Well, she was holding the fucking station together before you—” She cuts off, gritting her teeth.

Kepler’s eyes narrow. “I was unaware a demigod was capable of that.”

“Sir?” Jacobi says cautiously. Kepler nods at him. “Vulcan is a god of the forge. Any metalwork or technology technically falls in that domain. It’s not outside the realm of the possible. I’m more surprised she’s not dead than I am surprised she did it.”

The door to the commissary opens again, and Maxwell slips in. Doug hasn’t seen her since they docked. Lovelace looks at her with malice and suspicion, but Hilbert scoffs outright.

"You brought a homunculus? We already have one barely functioning AI, we don't need another empty doll."

Maxwell does not flinch. In fact, she has no discernable response, and Hilbert gestures to her as though this proves his point.

"Doctor Hilbert," Colonel Kepler says, each word slow and deliberate. "If you _ever_ refer to Doctor Maxwell in such a way again, we're all going to find out exactly how long a human can survive a depressurized airlock with an oxygen mask. I'm sure it will be enlightening for us all, won't it?" He tilts his head. "Mister Jacobi is a talented enough healer we should be able to manage without you." He nods at Maxwell. “Go ahead, Maxwell.”

“I finished my diagnosis of the Census systems last night and began the first round of repairs,” she says. “Hera’s a marvel, sir, and I should have her running optimally in no time.”

“Where’s your alchemist?” Hilbert demands. She doesn’t look at him, and he stiffens. “You’re a phoenix feather homunculus. Where’s your command sigil?”

“Sir?” Jacobi says.

“Granted,” Kepler answers.

Jacobi slams Hilbert’s head into the wall. “You ever so much as look at her again,” he says, “We’re going to skip the airlock and just set all the oxygen in the room on fire. I’m _really_ good at that.”

“Mister Jacobi is one of the most powerful fire mages I’ve ever seen,” Kepler says casually. “What was it, Maxwell, a thirty story skyscraper in Detroit? Burned to the steel infrastructure from just Jacobi’s magic?”

“Forty stories, sir. And Daniel is very close to the star, he’s probably more powerful than normal.”

“Now,” Jacobi says. “Apologise to Alana.” After a moment, there’s a sizzling sound, and Hilbert gasps in pain. “ _Apologise._ ”

“My apologies, Doctor,” Hilbert says through gritted teeth. Jacobi pulls his hand away, and there’s a perfect hand-shaped burn, already blistering.

“That looks bad,” Kepler tuts. “You should probably treat that before it infects. It’s _probably_ going to scar. A good reminder to stay civil, don’t you agree?”

Doug keeps his head down. It feels wrong, a little, to just let it happen, but then he remembers Decima, how it ate away at the delicate structures of his gills, the scarring still there on his ribs even when he has lungs instead.

He’s pretty sure someone is going to die before this is over. He’s not too sure he’d mind if it was _Hilbert_.

~~Maybe he’d get a proper meal for once.~~

He shakes the thought away and hums under his breath, ignoring how sharp his teeth had gotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SI-5 isn't hyphenated in the script and honestly? Fuck that.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote three different beginnings to this chapter from Renee's pov before realizing that she is not who should've speaking. Also trying to balance a SPRAWLING fanfic au while also writing a DnD campaign is surprisingly difficult.

Isabel nearly punches Hilbert when he pulls her aside. Kepler had just cheerfully announced his plans for a comprehensive review of the crew, asking to handle Isabel’s _personally_.

“Listen to me very carefully, Captain,” he says, low and hurried. There are still clean, white bandages wrapped around the burn on his arm. “Colonel Kepler will try to Thrall you. He is a demon, a _concubus_. That is what he does. Don’t let him, and don’t let him touch you.”

“Wha-- Thrall?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. He will try to impose his will over yours. Don’t let him.”

“Doctor Hilbert.” Jacobi rounds the corner at that moment, holding a clipboard and looking unimpressed. Isabel has no doubt that Kepler did that on purpose, given the way Hilbert flinches slightly. “Come on, I wanna see your lab.”

“Don’t let Colonel Kepler touch you, Captain,” Hilbert warns, and Jacobi rolls his eyes.

“He’s a demon, but he’s not a monster. Let’s go.”

And Isabel is left alone, waiting at the entrance to the Urania for Kepler.

"Sorry for the wait, Captain." Kepler nearly materializes, rounding the corner completely silently. "I had to find Officer Eiffel for another assignment. Shall we?" He gestures to the door, as though inviting Isabel inside, as though she has a choice.

Isabel stops in her tracks at the door he leads her to. His _personal quarters_ , spartan as they appear, but she’s hyperaware of the implications here. 

Kepler chuckles behind her, closer than she expected, but when she whips around to face him there’s a respectful distance between them. “Nothing nefarious, Captain. I forgot that you only have a _human_ perspective for demons.” He smiles, a curling, sensuous thing. “I only Feed off the willing. You aren’t. Would you rather take this somewhere else?”

She takes a deep breath. “No. Let’s get this over with.”

Kepler takes a surprising number of steps to make her comfortable, leaving the door unlatched and keeping her path to it clear, even as he flips through her file. “One thousand, one hundred and eighty-three days,” he says after a moment. “Nine-hundred and forty-four during your first mission, then two hundred and thirty-nine since you joined Minkowski and her crew. That is a _very_ long rotation, especially for a Fae like yourself.”

“Yep,” Isabel says.

“How would you characterize your time on the Hephaestus?” 

“Difficult.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“ _Very_ difficult.” Isabel is adept at this by now, at vague statements that are not lies but offer no truth either.

Kepler doesn’t even look up. “Captain. I hope that you can appreciate how your being here makes my life _far_ more complicated. You have no official role, no official responsibilities. Going by your own account, I could arrest you for subverting the chain of command and no one would bat an eye. You're an unknown variable.” Finally, he lifts his gaze to regard her. “And I hate those.”

Isabel lifts her chin proudly and waits. She’s not sure where he’s going with this. 

He tilts his head. “Do you play chess? It seems like a game the Fae would favor.” Without waiting for a response, he releases the file to just float and pulls open a nearby storage compartment, revealing a magnetic chess set. “Do you prefer white or black?”

“I don't--”

“Perfect! I’ll take white.”

Isabel clenches her jaw as he sets the board. Her father hadn’t been the most devout Christian, but this feels too much like a wager with the devil. “And if I lose?”

Kepler outright laughs. “Oh, Captain. Hell is only interested in _human_ souls.” He moves a pawn. “Tell me about your shuttle.”

She’s been talking for three minutes before she even realizes he’s asked the question. She stops mid-sentence, biting the inside of her cheek against the foreign desire to tell him _everything._

“Everything alright?” Kepler asks pleasantly. 

“F--” The word, the lie, won’t finish. “I’d rather you didn’t do that,” she says through gritted teeth. 

Kepler’s smile is predatory. “Oops. Instinctual magic can be so hard to control, I’m sure you understand.”

She pauses long enough to be sure she actually wants to say it. “I don’t, actually. I still haven’t figured out what my magic is.” She moves a piece on the board.

“Right,” Kepler says, taking one of her pawns. “Changeling. You forgot. Your psych eval suggested you were such a reckless pilot on Earth because you were trying to recreate the feeling of your wings.” 

The muscles of Isabel’s shoulders twitch. “I don’t--” Once again, the lie chokes off in her throat. “I’m not even sure I have wings.” She suspects, maybe, that she used to. Another piece clunks as it magnetizes to the board.

Kepler hums. “You’re leaving your rook exposed.” He moves a bishop and takes it.

“Maybe I want to finish the game.” It’s such a careful non-truth, but not quite a lie.

He shrugs, easy and casual. “If you'd like to forfeit, you're free to go. I think we've about covered everything. Unless you want to ask _me_ any questions.”

“I want to kick your ass at nerd poker,” she says, because _‘I don’t_ ’ dies on her tongue. “Check.” She grins viciously at his querying noise. “Didn’t see that coming, did you?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, no, no. It's just that... if I were you, I would be very curious about why we told Hilbert that you were dead.” He moves. “And you should really be more careful with your queen, what would Titania think?”

“You lied to Hilbert, why would you tell _me_ the truth?”

“Because he's a slimy waste of a soul that’s always been strictly _need-to-know_. When you left the Hephaestus, you became _my_ department’s problem, not his. I don’t need him poking around what’s my business.”

“My _life_ isn’t _business_!”

The file folder from before passes in front of the vent, blows open, and scatters papers everywhere. The game pauses long enough for Kepler to curse and gather them back up, shutting the file into the storage compartment from before. It gives Isabel enough time to get her temper back under control.

“What did happen to me?” she asks when he returns to the board, moving her queen.

“We don’t know.”

“It’s not fair to lie to a Fae, Colonel.”

“It’s the truth. You weren’t supposed to _be_ here. _Truthfully_ , we know you left. We know you’re back. The rest is a bit of a blur.” He moves. “But after everything that’s happened here, don’t you think there’s _another_ possibility?”

“I’m not letting you _Thrall_ me into believing you,” Isabel snaps. She moves. “Check.”

He moves his king. “You shook off my Thrall earlier, Captain. No magic this time. I'm not asking you to drop any grudges. But right now? All this insanity? It _is_ business. And we'll figure out what has been happening a whole lot faster if we all work together. Help me help you.”

She moves a knight. “I want to go _home_.”

“Second choice?”

“Chief of Engineering. Your AI cheerleader doesn't do anything without my say-so.”

Kepler doesn’t miss a beat. “Not a chance.”

“Master-of-Arms. With full autonomy. You actually let me do the job.”

“Not exactly a ringing statement of trust, Captain.”

“You'll have to earn that. Take it or leave it.”

Kepler sighs softly. “Deal. And, ah...” He moves his queen, takes her knight. “Checkmate.”

Isabel exhales, slow and even, but her heart is pounding. She turns to leave.

“Captain,” Kepler says. “I am serious. The most powerful and well-funded tech conglomerate in the world has no idea what happened to you. Before you start investigating every single move we make... If it were me? I would really like to know where those two years of my life went. Just... something to think about.”

“I don’t believe you.” she says, and closes the door behind her.

It’s not until she’s back on the Hephaestus that she realizes it’s a _lie_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Join my [w359 Discord](https://discord.gg/WW9naTVtCS)? 
> 
> I talk about my writing sometimes on [my twitter](https://twitter.com/nile_speaks).


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